Relentless
by Soulreciever
Summary: He'd sell his soul for the power to freeze the moment and take the chance to absorb every nuance there on Anthony's face. (Ianthony)
1. Chapter 1

"…ok, see you then." A swipe of a finger and he's again alone, head stuffed to the point of an oncoming migraine with the familiar cycle of emotions.

Selfish anger no matter if he'd been seeing this coming the very moment her name had sprung up on his phone; Guilt for feeling that way, for the fierce desire to call her back and make some crazy assed demand of her that would be as wrecking ball to their current britality of their friendship; Helplessness for dragging them both into this in the first place, for being so terribly trapped his own heart that even now that choice seemed literally the only one he could ever have made; and finally the desperate, unrelenting, ugly, reality of love, of the possession he felt always when dark eyes settled a moment on his or thin lips twisted in a smile so strong it'd imprint itself on his own mouth no matter his mood.

He feels certain that if he'd had some warning, if perhaps there had been the butterflies or the blushing or one of the thousand other silly things the romance novels wittered on about, he might have stopped it.

Might have been able to get his stuborn heart lodged somewhere a great deal less destructive.

But then real life had a habit sometimes of just kneeing you in the balls for no apparent reason and he'd had no such opportunity, had simply caught those dark, dark, eyes one day and thought, 'there is nothing I wouldn't do to keep you happy.'

Initially he'd been all smiles at the thought, it'd felt so warm, after all, another subtle extension to the ever increasing tapestry of their friendship and then…

_"Creeper smile much, Ian?" Laughter at the edge of the words and, indeed, the unmistakable twitch of it at the corner of his mouth to tell he's teasing and he's laughing in kind as he responds,_

_ "Sorry, it's just… we've been friends for over a decade man, how crazy is that?"_

Which had had him doubled over, cheeks flushing the familiar rose of pure, unadulterated, amusement and then stone cold sober had come the thought that he's never seen something quite as perfect.

That he'd sell his soul for the power to freeze the moment and take the chance to absorb every nuance there on Anthony's face. To run first eyes, then hands and finally tongue over every expanse that gently tanned skin without concern of interruption or rejection.

In all truth it'd not been the thought itself but the underlying understanding that he'd managed to develop such perverted thoughts about his undeniably male friend with enough subtly that they'd manifested as though as simple observation an as 'it's raining', which'd had him out on the highway as swiftly as he'd been able.

He'd driven half way down state before he'd pulled off, found a cheep ass motel and proceeded to get as drunk as humanly possible at the bar.

24 hours later he'd woken to find a strange woman hovering over him and, as she reminded him often, he'd enquired,

_"Are you an angel?"_

She'd crinkled with laughter, told him a long drawn story that'd conluded the highlight of him vomiting onto her lap before dropping to sleep that may or may not be entire fabrication before extending her hand and informing him,

_ "I'm Melane by the way," _

He'd known, even then, that the right thing to do would be simply to give his own name, thank her sincerely the utterly monstrous kindness of helping him out at a desperate point and to offer to pay her back for the room she'd ended out not using thanks to making sure his sorry ass didn't drown in vomit like some godforsaken hobo.

Put a wall out before someone as sweet hearted as she seemed to be got tangled enough in his life that there was little to no hope of escape.

Instead he'd offered to buy her breakfast, flirted outrageously over the meal and somehow charmed his way into securing a tour of her modest little house.

Something about meeting someone such as her at such a point in his life had felt somehow fated, after all, the universes odd way of offering apology for the ugly tumour of yearning it'd awoken deep, deep, in his heart.

He'd been so caught that rational, the shear sense of security he felt already about her, that he'd half convinced himself that that wanting was little more than the product of delusional exhaustion and then…

Then Anthony had called.


	2. Chapter 2

_The niggling ache behind his eyes has proved stubborn foe and reminding himself for about the third time this month that he's no longer as young as he used to be, that it really was time to be a little more responsible with his drink, he'd asked Mel if he might beg a coffee._

_His new...acquaintance...had responded with laughter a cheeky demand that he brew an entire pot while he was there and then shooed him out in the direction of the kitchen._

_He can still feel the ache in his cheeks from the smile that'd prompted, the warm bubble of content he got always from being in good company and the background note of crazy that was the understanding that they'd known one another barely 24 hours._

_Maybe fate was catching him a break yet again and he 'd...the unmistakable melody of his phone breaks the thought and, habitually, his hand goes to his pocket._

_It's empty and mentally face palming himself he leans enough out of the kitchen so that he knows Mel can hear him yelling, "answer that will you?"_

_A long moment punctuated the sound of the kettle bubbling away to itself and Mel's voice, muffled for the wall between them, growing steadily closer and then the phones being thrust into his hand with a firm, "__M__ake sure he gets that I'm not some crazed loon k?" before he's again by himself._

_"Hello?" "God, Ian , do you know how worried I've been?" There's a note in Anthony's voice he knows a little too well, a wild tremor that tells he's literally the smallest push away from an attack and it has him smiling._

_He knows how Anthony feels about his condition, knows how hard he clings to his control and how much the other needs to be pushed to get even to the point of attack let alone such a desperate point as to show he's as such and how wrong it is to take pleasure in knowing his safety almost instant trigger to get his friend in such a state._

_Yet still the smile lingers, the unrelenting press of it there at his cheek mussels as undeniable sign of how strong the bind of his desire is and as hard message that there is to be no cutting free._

_It has him sober enough to be able to apologise for his actions without sounding insincere and, once he has gained his friends grudging acceptance he takes care to go through the expected motions._

_Assures the other well without ever asking as such, tells him as much the previous night as he recalls before passing on Mel's foolish account of the rest of the evening and chats a little business before organising a slap dash movie night._

_Silence._

_He feels a man on a precipice, so very certain that one step forward will mean falling and one back becoming someone other than himself._

_An imposter in his own skin._

_"You love him." Not kindness but apology and indeed that self same expression is there in her face as he pulls him to her, as she tells him with the strength of her arms and the warmth of her body what words shall only make ugly._

_That he is not alone in this no matter how it feels._

They'd drunk coffee in silence for a while after that and then she'd told him her story, of how she had spent her life following in the steps of the man she loved, moving far away from her home, her friends and even the girl she had been all for his sake only to see him marry someone else.

_"__T__he only thing I could think as she showed me the ring was how different they were, of how the very moment they were alone together they'd pull each other apart and for all that I knew that thought so terribly ugly I could not stop it. Even now..._**god**_, even now I live in the ugly hope that he'll up and leave her for my sake."_

A return her silent promise to support her always and then, without provocation, they'd both moved the conversation away onto safer, happier, ground.

They'd kept in regular contact in the weeks after, texting back and forth with such fevered frequency that Anthony had eventually cuffed him about the head and enquired, _"__H__ey, Romeo, how about catching a guy a break from your slow ass typing and call her on the computer?"_

He'd attempted, uselessly, to tell him he'd the wrong end of the stick, to give some voice the cancerous yearning there in his heart... his body...**his soul** and yet the words lodge hard in his throat.

He'd known, so well, what their consequence would be after all, that there would be no surprise confession or delayed acceptance at their utterance but rather only hard rejection and an irreconcilable shift the dynamic between them.

Thus he'd stumbled incoherent and, smiling bright and true, Anthony had stated, _"Man you seriously have to introduce me to this chick if she's getting you this flustered this quickly!"_

_The smile is so perfect, pulling sharper definition his face and staining his cheeks the subtle rose of genuine joy and he's burning for the sight of it, craving more enough that, without thought, he's smiling in kind, telling him, "of course," with enthuse sincerity in hopes of gaining fix that yearning._

That'd been the start of it all, the elaborate fiction of love all for the sake of another smile to ease the ache a little longer, with Mel as his reluctant partner in crime.

Each demand a little more authenticity, a leaked photo of them somewhere together, a subtle of affection whenever Anthony was around and holidays to some exotic location 'alone', had strained and strained the solidity their friendship.

It little helps that, along the way, it's become as much about keeping himself occupied as it has fooling the man he loves so very completely.

That every time he thinks to tell Anthony that he and Mel have decided to call it a day, to let her go a little so that she might live her own life, his mind begins compiling a list of ways to edge Kalel out also.

Begins to fantasise that maybe, just maybe, once his friend has been broken just a little he might see their friendship with fresh eyes and...

So when, last week, Anthony had voiced concern at his being alone in the house with more frequency he'd almost instantly responded with,

_"Actually I thought I'd see if Mel might come live up here...you know if you'd be cool with that."_

_For a moment there's shock written clear Anthony's face and when the smile does come it's the one he wears in their videos, rigid pretence without genuine heart behind it._

_Hot feverish hope has him at that strange reaction and tongue wetting at his lips he makes deliberate eye contact, steps just a little closer._

_A fake laugh and Anthony's opening that distance again, mumbling consent and congratulations over his shoulder along with some line about being behind on the editing._

He'd called Mel the request to follow his idiocy through, to move down for a few weeks to see what might come of it and she'd snapped at last.

Yelled and yelled before hanging up without so much as an explanation.

He'd known better than to phone back, to even take the smaller risk of texting what he'd known pathetic, insincere, apology and had simply waited.

Waited in hope that Mel might forgive him again, that she might somehow submit the utter foolishness of dragging the fiction so very far and that maybe, just maybe, Anthony might simply ask the question there in his eyes.

Face the matter head on so that he might, at last, bleed the truth from his veins and damn the consequences , rather than edge about it all as some unexploded land mine.

She sounds worn when she does eventually phone, impossibly older likely for the strain he'd been putting her through and it'd had an apology spilling from him before he can catch it.

_"__Y__ou almost sound like you mean it." _

_"I do...no, that's not quite true, I want to mean it, but..." _

_"You'd do it all again." _

_"Yes."_

_A gentle sound, part sigh, part self affirmation then, _

_"We can't keep going on like this Ian, at least not without tearing each other apart in the process." _

_"I know, but I can't just cut you out of my life either Mel...I mean Jesus aside from Anthony you're the closest friend I have." _

_"Same." There's a genuine smile in the words and it has a little the weight from his shoulders, has him buoyed enough to state, _

_"Let's start over." _

_"Ok, in which case I'll be back at 'our' hotel Monday for a conference, how about you come down for the evening and we'll have a proper chat?"_

_ "I'd like that!" _

_"Good and Ian think about telling Anthony will you, I know you think nothing good __wil__l come out of it, but all lying will get you is pain and regret." The familiar raw note in her voice and, in recognition that honesty, he responds, _

_"I'll think about it."_

_A moment then she's laughing to ease the tension, having him promise to stay sober this time so he could actually enjoy the night before rounding the call off and leaving him his thoughts _

Even now 'the right thing' is an elusive beast and he's still half tempted to carry the charade without Mel's aid, to begin lying to her as he's been lying to Anthony and yet...

_"...all lying will get you is pain and regret."_

The heal of his hands dig hard the hollow of his eyes and up his temple, massaging away the first tendrils of a head ache.

A soft knock on his door a brief moment later and then Anthony is silhouetted in the bright light of the hall,

"I think we need to talk, Ian."


	3. Chapter 3

The last few years of his life have been giddy roller coaster, everything so fast that he barely has time to register the drop before he's being whisked again high, free and just a little nauseous.

It means that some of the tiny details have slipped a little by, stacked in his hind brain like boxes in an attic to gather dust and be recalled only once all their relevance has long since evaporated.

Or, in this case, until they'd come crashing through the floor, spilling forth memories, emotions and even some long forgotten secrets as they'd tumbled, inevitably, to a stop.

It'd felt like an attack, all hot, sharp, panicked breathlessness and yet Ian had been smiling still, the expression reaching his eyes in a way it never quite managed when an attack's in process, which'd meant either that he'd at last found a way to hide the symptoms even from his best freind or…

…or he'd had a god damned mental breakdown at the mere suggestion that Melane might come to live in their house.

It'd been so god damned stupid especially when he'd been the one to point out how little he was actually kicking about the house outside of Smosh stuff recently and how lonely that might be making his 'partner in crime'.

Still it'd felt like the walls were closing in and somehow Ian seemed closer, a spark in his blue, blue, eyes that'd had him wanting to fuck him hard against the kitchen counter.

He'd felt his hands tingling in the utter desperation to complete that thought, to grasp so hard the exposed surface of Ian's wrists that he'd leave marks that he'd be able to see for weeks and it'd been an almost physical wrench to separate himself from the temptation.

To laugh as he knows he would have if not for the wanting and make up some story to get him out of the room before his traitorous body had gotten the better of him.

Once alone he'd cycled the familiar breathing technique, allowed his head chance to catch up with itself and once he'd felt rational, a man again in control of his own destiny,he'd phoned Kalel and warned her that he'd be heading down early.

That he'd needed to 'talk' to her.

It had not been an easy conversation no matter if they'd both felt their relationship drifting, seen the inevitability of a break up as night long conversations in the long weeks apart had turned into ten minute catch up sessions and lazy weekends spend tangled together in bed had vanishing into time spent laughing with her friends and an hour or so in-front of the tv, Kabuki sprawled in the void between their bodies. Still they have always been honest with one another and he'd cared enough to honour that fact, to take on the burden of the 'bad guy' all in the hope of cutting shallow enough that they might at least salvage their friendship.

She'd laughed at the attempt once the tears had been spent, thanked him a warm sincerity for being so very him, for the bravery of his honesty and then, hugging him tight, she'd enquires, "wanna help me make the spare room then?"

No matter how many people had stayed in their third bedroom since the last his best friend had stolen the use of it the sheets had smelt still impossibly of Ian and he'd inhaled deep each time they'd drifted close to his nose, body all but burning for wanting by the time they'd compleated the task.

"I have to tell him don't I?" It'd been rhetorical, the white heat of whatever had been sparked in the soul of him having already scorched deep enough that there was no healing and certainly no pretending himself still the same man he'd been 'before'.

Still the magnitude of placing voice and thus definition the emotion is enough that he had needed confidence, needed to see the strength of her conviction as she had responded to the positive, as bolster against the inevitability of doubt.

Ian is quiet when he returns, face dark, manner closed and, for all that he wants to take hope the fact, he wants more to see a smile again on the other's face, intensifies his clownish persona and instills as much normality as he might all in persuit of that goal.

Still Ian remains trapped solid his own head and more than once he texts Kalel some pitiful emo shit about giving up and wallowing the glorious agony of wanting without aknowledgement or return that desire.

Always she responds some cute picture of Kabuki or a list of places she wants both Ian and he to visit when they come down next and her confidence settles him enough to keep 'at it.'

Indeed he'd aproached the other's room with the intent of routing him out from 'the nest' with a scheme he'd **known** guarenteed to insight at least a pity laugh when he'd stumbled the end of what sounds heated conversation.

"…I can't just cut you out of my life either Mel…" It's raw and the mear mention of Melanie's name has him flat against the oposing wall, breath harsh for the fear of being caught, of having to explain everything now when it seems the only real good doing as such will bring is an easing his own burdens, yet…

…as he struggles to saturate his lungs with oxygen as quietly as is physically possible his mind skitters over and over the words, every stress and strain of Ian's voice.

He'd sounded precisly the way he sounded when he and his sister had had a somewhat childish falling out a few years back, a man desperate to undo the damage he'd unwittingly caused and yet at peace already the idea that he can not.

He and Ian are very different souls, it's one of the reasons they've always had such good rapport and he knows, god, he knows so very well that this could just be more proof of this but….

…he feels certain that a man as in love as he'd believed Ian would fight a hell of a lot harder to keep the object of that affection, would hound and hound and all but tear his soul apart all for the persuit of that goal.

Yet he'd been buckling without so much as even a fight and maybe…

…maybe…

He knocks and, before the doubt can again assail him he states, "I think we need to talk, Ian."

A strange look and he has to breath hard to stop himself from simply giving into his baser instinct, from stealing just a little before the opperunity is lost to him forever.

"Sure man, what's up?" For all that it sounds so unlike his usual carefree voice Ian is still following the enquiry with a firm pat of the empty space at his side.

He little trusts his control to fully compleet that request and yet even if sticking in one place wasn't all kinds of rude he'd still have at least crossed over the threshold of the room.

This wasn't the sort of conversation to be having at arms reach after all and after being pushed so far onto the perifery this last week he was all but burning for the chance to spend a few minutes within the tight circle of his freinds personal space.

"Kalel and I broke up." He takes care to make it sound casual and he's rewarded another glimpse that strange expression before his freind is making a solid study of his feet and enquring,

"Oh?"

"We both agreed that we're better as friends." A smile no matter if Ian's not looking at him right now then, "Basically I'll be back in the house again and I thought you might want to organise some form of system so that I'm not massivly third whealing it."

Ian's posture tenses visibly enough that, without even thinking, he's on his knees, balancing his hands flat onto the carpet and making delberate point of making eye contact with the other as he enquires, "Is something wrong?"

A heartbeat and Ian's kissing him.

Hard.

It takes litterally a split second for him to respond, to tangle hungry hands into the softness of that frankly ridiculous hairstyle and pull firm enough to insight a little wince of pain.

He wants so much more, wants to bite hard enough to draw blood and scribe his name the substance, to make utterly certain that no one shall ever claim as much the other as he.

For now though…

…a sharp breath for control, an establishment a few scant inches of distance and the hard nessity of words.

An establishing of bounderies before they both allow the shear viceral reality of…this…to swallow them whole.


	4. Chapter 4

It's just and just six am, on a sunday and really she should still be lost to the happy little dream she'd been having about walking hand in hand down a sun strewn beach with a new someone.

That she's not, that she's awake, throat raspy as always when first waking, eyes open the barest slit and head trembling still the soft vibrations that'd disturbed her in the first place, can be attributed to but one individual.

Everyone else in her life was no where near brave enough to attempt contacting her before the sun was at it's highest on her lazy day, even when they had some truly important piece of information, after all.

Ian, however, seemed to believe either that he had some 'get out jail free' card thanks the depth of their friendship, or simply that he had charm enough to work about the sharpness of her manner and continually insisted on flouting the unwritten rule.

Even then he'd never attempted to contact her this early nor with the shear level of persistence the declaration of two previous missed calls denoted and it's that understanding which has her answering with a sharp, "this better be good," rather than simply tossing the thing somewhere it can be ignored for another hour or so.

"Help me build a time machine Mel!"

He's a dead man, a dead, dead man and she tells him as such in language her mother would be ashamed at her even knowing, which has him honest to goodness laughing.

"I'm hanging up Ian."

"No wait, I'll be serious now, I promise!"

"Ok, I'm listening,"

A moment of silence and she's almost drifted back to sleep when he all but whispers,

"I'm an idiot Mel."

The note in his voice can mean only that this is about Anthony and, instantly awake, she enquires,

"Why? What's happened Ian?"

"Nothing's happened and that's the whole god damned problem!" There's no genuine heat the remark and that settles the spike of fear enough for her to state,

"Look, you clearly need to talk so why don't you give me an hour to shower, dress and chug like a gallon of coffee then come on over?"

"That'd be good, thanks Mel."

"Mm, you can add this to my tab."

With which she's hanging up and, no matter the weak protest in her limbs, rolling her way out of the little nest of blankets she'd built herself the night previous.

She turns the shower extra hot and makes sure to let the filter sit a little longer in the coffee pot so that when Ian does turn up she feels awake enough to be a decent human being no matter if she would still rather be in bed.

It's an effort she feels rewarded as she takes in the shadows under each startlingly blue eye and the general edge of scruff that's settled into his appearance.

"I know I know I look like hell." He quips as he gives her a tight squeeze and edges his way into the house, nose twitching slightly at the scent of coffee in the air.

"It's in the kitchen if you want a cup but it's double strength so I'd water it down if I were you."

"Thanks for the warning but honestly I could do with the energy,"

With which he's toeing off his shoes, fetching a giant mugs worth of coffee and settling into the squishy single seater that's become 'his' in the time they'd known one another.

"So."

"I royally screwed myself over Mel."

"Anthony?" He squirms a little, clearly regretting dragging her into whatever this is so swiftly and then, eyes directed at his coffee he states,

"It's been almost a year since that kiss and we've still not 'gone the whole nine yards'…in fact I think we've managed to work our way back to the other end of the field."

"Right and that's your fault because?"

"We talked after and I ended up running off at the mouth…saying how maybe we should take our time a little..I mean he'd literally just and just broken up with Kalel and it was so so possible I was just some crazy re-bound and there was no way in hell I was risking Smosh or our friendship for a flash in the pan and then there was what us being together would mean as far as the fanbase and our 'real' lives were concerned…and I used all my god damned courage on getting that kiss in the first place so…" He's trying for matter of fact, brushing it all off as either 'one of those things' and yet he's tired enough that there's flaws enough the facade to expose him liar to likely even a strangers eye.

Still he's not quite warn enough for his pride to let the fiction go, to allow her to do anything other than place voice about the shape of his name before he's running hand hard the back of his neck and stating,

"You know it sounds kinda pathetic now it's out there," before he catches her eyes and adds, "Sorry for dragging you into my drama again Mel."

Which is Ian for 'let's just drop it,' and, after sending a brief, covert, text she does just that.

The room spins a little as he leans across the table to secure a drinks menu and he giggles at the sensation.

It's a sign of age that it's only taken a round of shots to get him to this point when, in his 'prime', he'd been able to drink even Ian under the table without so much as a hang over the next day.

He tells himself the sudden souring of his mood is thanks the awful reminder the finite nature of his existence rather than because of the flood of other tiny Ian memories that assault him and orders two pitchers of the most amusing sounding cocktail on the menu.

It's lurid green and decked with a sparkler so, of course, he has to take a shot of it for the fans, his hands shaky enough that he steals Kalel away from her dance floor grinding session with the new boyfriend so that she can take it.

"It almost looks as though it should glow in the dark!" Which has him laughing so hard he uses it as the caption, a fact that has her rolling her eyes and stating, "maybe you should make this the last one for a while."

"What, why?"

"Because you flirt like crazy once you're properly drunk."

It's true, of course and the part of him that'd agreed to this impromptu get together in the first place, the part that'd been putting more and more time into editing in hopes of shutting his inner monologue up for more than two seconds, wants to scream and shout that maybe he wants a crazy no strings hook up.

He's pretty certain there's not enough booze in the world, let alone this tiny excuse for a nightclub, to actually mean the words; to forget that he's been overcome completely a relentless, obsessive, yearning that's likely to never quiet be sated even if…

Again his moods gone and silently she pulls him to the dance floor, goofs around long enough that he's again filled with levity.

Still it's not quite enough to get his head off track now it's there and after two songs he works his way back to his table, mindful to ditch what's left his cocktail just incase some chancer had laced it while he'd had his eye off it .

It was because their friendship was so strong, so natural, which is an understanding that seems as drunken logic and yet…

…the kiss they'd shared what felt a goddamned lifetime ago was the barest step over the lines of intimacy that'd existed always in their friendship, a spontaneity that'd been so easy to move back from as cold reality had set in.

There was so much at risk even taking the business out of the equation, so much white hot terror the thought of loosing the fixed certainty that they would always, always, be there for one another, after all.

They still laughed together with comfortable ease, had fallen back into the routine of living together almost instantly and yet there was now a clear wall between them, a distance so subtle he was certain only those closest to them were honestly aware its existence.

Ok and maybe some of the really obsessive fans who micro analysed every single one of their videos.

They were going to tear themselves apart weren't they? Push back and back until there was a valley of unspoken words and bitter regret between them.

In a breath the worlds narrowing in and suddenly it's too dark, too hot, too **everything** in the club.

It's a humid evening and yet in comparison the almost volcanic heat he'd escaped the free, open, air feels like ice bath.

Breath ragged he settles to the sidewalk edge no matter how much attention he's sure to draw, nor the risk of such attention meaning someone recognises his face and takes advantage his vulnerability somehow.

In. Out.

**In..Out..**

_**In…Out…**_

Each breaths getting harder, his panicked mind unable to settle enough to find the clarity he needs to ease everything just enough to get back his control and, in pure, desperate, impulse he calls Ian.

He can't find enough air to place voice to words, to do anything other than wheeze down the line and yet still there's such conviction in the younger man's voice as he states,

"I'll come get you," that instantly he's breathing that little bit easier.

Indeed by the time a familiar shade of electric blue is crossing into his eye line he's calm enough that he feels not only foolish for likely scaring the shit out of the other, but also again so very, very uncomfortable.

He tries to stand as Ian steps out of the car and is reminded, forcefully, of just how drunk he'd gotten himself as the world swims alarmingly.

Firm, warm, fingers settle on his shoulder and, a breath later, clear blue eyes are glancing up at him with clear concern.

"You ok?"

'Yes' is the answer he should give along with 'You can go back if you want' but they're so close right now, closer than they have been in a whole fucking year and the heat, the scent, of Ian in his nose has his hindbrain taking over.

Has him giggling as though he was a much, much, drunker man and informing the other,

"Your eyes are pretty!"

His pupils blow a little at the remark and, stepping back just enough so that there is again an 'appropriate' distance between them he states, "You're drunk," with quiet resignation.

Capturing the elation he feels for ensnaring Ian in such a simple ruse he smiles wide, bright and retorts,

"Nooooo, I only had like six beers."

"Mm and that god awful looking concoction you put on Instagram…seriously dude did you forget that we've got an early start tomorrow?" A beat as Ian reads the utterly genuine shock on his face then "Man, your hopeless," which, no matter if it's playful or no, somewhat takes the wind out of his sails.

Has him scuffing his feet and offering sincere apology a slip that wouldn't have happened if he hadn't a) gotten his head so tangled about itself and b) buried himself so deeply into work in attempt to untangle said tangle that he managed to loose track of where he was in the god damned week.

He really, really, must look miserable because Ian's closing in for a hug, crossing one of the unspoken lines, a minute later and god he'd forgotten just what it was to be in his friends arms.

Warm, safe and so goddamned perfect he can't quite believe it'd taken him so long to realise just how deeply he cared the younger boy…to acknowledge the string that bound them, heart and soul, to one another.

Two seconds and Ian's patting his back, attempting to claw back again the distance and he utterly swears he can feel the moment his resolve snaps.

That he plunges both his hands down to cup the firm, toned, ass and forcefully use the purchase to push the other into a fierce, fierce, kiss.

A faint muffled protest that he silences the warmth of his tongue and then Ian is matching him completely, is pushing him hard the nightclub wall and grasping his hips so hard he knows there will be bruises tomorrow.

Rationally he knows them outside, knows that, by now, they'll have drawn attention enough that someone outside their 'circle' is bound to have recognised them and taken an opportunistic pap but…

Not only is a years worth of repressed lust boiling it's way through his veins and burning every shred of rationality he's left but there's such a fear in him that letting go will mean loosing everything.

That the moment he gives even an inch of ground there will be again cavernous distance between them.

It's the sound of police sirens somewhere in the distance, a reminder one of the more serious negative consequences of letting the lust carry them, that forces at last 'sobriety' on them.

That has Ian glancing up at him pupils all but black and stating, "come home," a voice made rough and deep the sake of hormones and that has him nodding response on pure impulse.

The first notification rolls in just after two, the sound of first his then Anthony's mobiles buzzing it's arrival muffled enough their plush carpet and the fabric their long since abandoned jeans that he knows he'd have missed it if he hadn't been slipping out into the hall in desperate need of a piss.

By the time he rescues his own device at six his screens flooded with text boxes that blend into a blurry sort of lump thanks to still half asleep eyes and he chucks the thing onto the kitchen counter with a mental promise to deal with it once he's had some coffee.

He's on cup two when it begins vibrating its way towards the edge and, in a feet of cordination he knows is going to sound implauasable when he repetes the tale later, he manages to rescue the thing just and just as it makes air with one hand and wihout spilling a single drop of liquid.

"Hello?"

"Oh…wow you're actually up! I honestly thought I was going to have to leave you a message!" Mel sounds just a little disapointed which means she'd likely thought to return the favour of his early morning call the week previous and, smiling a little to himself he enquires,

"It's that meeting with the ad execs in NY this avo remeber?"

"Oooh…I thought that was next week."

"Man your as bad as Anthony."

A roll of laughter and then, "Talking of whom I watched something very interesting this morning on Youtube."

"Oh god someone took a video?"

"Yep and photos. Lots and lots of juicy, juicy, photos."

"Well that'll explain the mass of twitter notifications I guess."

"I guess so." A beat then, "I have a confession to make as far as that goes by the way."

"Oh?"

"I knew Kalel was taking him out last night…you see the plan _had_ been to get him drunk enough that he was all flirty and then to get you in the same place and 'let nature take its course' but you decided you wanted to be mr antisocial and _he_ worked himself into a panic attack…"

Ah so _that's_ why she'd carried on nagging him about helping her 'get back out there' even after he'd told her how busy he was and how much he just needed an early night.

The right thing would likely be to give her a little telling off but then he'd only been awake when that heart stopping call from Anthony had come in because of Mel's continued pester attempts and, honestly, both girls had only had their best interests at heart.

So instead he thanks her sincerly, chats a little the more mundane things and then, with a promise to meet up later in the week, wonders back to the bedroom for five minutes more the circle of his partners arms.


End file.
